


The Fire was Red

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Erebor, Family Angst, Family Feels, Fire, Gen, Panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One day you will ask me, 'Which is more important, my life or yours?' I will say, 'Mine', and you will walk away not knowing that <em>you<em> are my life." —Kahlil Gibran</em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire was Red

As he lost his footing and fell, Óin felt the flesh of his face grind against scalding ashes and stone. He tried to push himself up, but the Wyrm’s footfalls thundered closer, causing the ground to shudder and take him back down.

The chaos was smothering. The screams were reaching a deafening pitch and the panic was at its upmost. Some of the citizens of Erabor were driven so mad as to kill others of their own to reach the door.

Everything had happened so quickly. Óin had been working with some of the other young doctors, patching up the daily bruises and scrapes received by the school children. Then there had been a muffled boom from the out of doors and a moment later a half-crazed soldier had burst through the door howling, “Dragon!”

At once the children had begun to cry and wail for their parents and Óin and the other doctors took action. They began evacuating the young ones, helping them find their parents and making certain that the families got to safety.

Óin had been trying to guide a hysterical young girl, Isynne, through the debris and fire, his maple-brown eyes scanning the passing faces. Elion and Istelle, her adad and ama, were nowhere to be seen. At long last Óin found them, but their names died on his lips and he quickly jerked Isynne behind him so she wouldn’t have to see her parents’ bodies.

The Wyrm had bellowed at that moment and Isynne had bolted in terror. Óin had been too late to catch her and she had vanished forever into the flames.

Now Óin’s sole purpose, like so many others, was to escape. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered on, ignoring the blood oozing down the side of his face.

The heat was becoming unbearable; the smoke was stalling clear breaths and rational thought. Perhaps this was the reason why Óin only then remembered the person he’d not yet seen amid the chaos.

_Glóin!_ Before his mind even registered he was moving, Óin was sprinting back the way he’d come. Glóin had been visiting his friends Restenn and Latorenn in their family quarters. Óin prayed that the three boys were still alive.

_Mahal, spare my brother. Spare him. Spare him_...The words kept rhythm with Óin’s heart, which was throbbing painfully against his breastbone. His lungs too ached, for all he could give them was soot and smoke. Coughs wracked his body so harshly Óin was astonished that his shoulders weren’t thrown out of alignment. He doubled over, clinging to the wall for balance as he wretched.

There was no time for this, Óin thought hazily. He could asphyxiate as he ran. Drawing in another mouthful of ash, Óin forced himself forward. His feet knew the way to Restenn and Latorenn’s dwelling yet he continued to falter as debris confused his path.

Another roar thundered down the hall. All at once Óin saw a wave of fire rising like a wall, about to crash down on him. For a split second he was paralyzed before he threw himself face-down. The wave rushed over him and Óin screamed. Never before had he known such blinding pain; it felt as though he were being eaten alive by his own fuming skin.

When the whooshing of the fire lessened and became a crackling around him, Óin rolled over and dragged himself into an upright position. Seeing the smoldering burns greatly intensified the pain.

_It doesn’t matter. Glóin’s all that matters._ Óin stood, gasping against a wave of nausea and agony, and hobbled on. He hardly knew where he was going now; every turn seemed alike, filled with ruin and the ever present smoke and the gray haze on the borders of Óin’s vision.

After what seemed like ages, he found the door with the familiar moon-shaped doorknocker. Óin slammed his shoulder against the door, never caring how the surface seared his skin.

“Glóin! _Glóin!_ ” Óin bellowed. Something was blocking the door from the inside. If the lads were still in there...Óin whirled around desperately and his head spun from the sudden movement. Even with his spiraling vision Óin could see an axe lying abandoned on the ground. He seized it and his hands were scalded also.

Summoning up his remaining strength, Óin hacked at the door, splintering the wood. Again and again he hurled the blade down. On his last stroke, however, a great explosion caught him from the side, the force of it throwing him off his feet.

Óin regained consciousness a few moments later and immediately he knew something was wrong. To his left the fires crackled and roared. Debris groaned and the Wyrm’s roars thundered about him. On the other side, all sound was muffled and distorted. He pressed a hand to his right ear and his hand came away bloody.

Shaking his head vigorously back and forth, trying to hear, Óin stood before the gap he’d created in the door. Shoving his head through, he shouted his brother’s name once more. “ _GLÓIN! ANSWER ME!_ ”

Miraculously Óin could catch a reply. “Óin!” As Óin watched, his brother crawled out from the darkness. Glóin’s face was wraithlike, contorted in sheer terror.

“Óin,” he sobbed out again. “Restenn and Latorenn are gone...My foot hurts...I can’t get up! Get me out, Óin, please!”

Even in the midst of his fear, Óin felt his heart break to hear his courageous younger brother sound so helpless. Óin began to wriggle through the gap in the door. When he made it through, he scooped up Glóin like a baby and maneuvered the two of them back through the hole.

The brothers were among the last to make it outdoors and as soon as they were clear of the dragon’s rage, Óin sank down onto the ground, taking Glóin with him.

After many, many long moments, Óin whispered hoarsely, “Are you alright? Glóin?” He pulled away slightly to see his brother’s face. Glóin stared back at him with glazed and vacant eyes. Óin’s heart jumped to his throat and despite the intense heat he had just endured a chill rippled down his back.

“Glóin?” he repeated in a trembling voice, shaking the Dwarfling a bit. The fog lifted then, clearing Glóin’s eyes. Breath hitching, he burst into tears. Óin shifted his brother into the protection of his lap and pressed his face into Glóin’s singed, smoky hair.

The Mountain was lost, all the King's precious gold with it. Many had lost their lives against the wrath of Smaug. But one Dwarrowdam, Neanélla wife of Gróin, was able to take hope and relief in seeing two Dwarf lads sitting together in the protection of a boulder, one brother gently rocking back and forth as the other wept into his shirt.


End file.
